Point of ViewLike the director of a film, an author uses viewpoint to direct the reader’s attention. Viewpoint is how the reader experiences your story through the senses and thoughts of another person. When done well, it’s pretty nearly invisible. It’s not within the scope of this article to discuss the myriad aspects of viewpoint in detail, but rather to discuss the ways in which you can recognize and fix those places where your handling of Point of View (POV) may have gone off the tracks. Note:My advice here is aimed at writers who like to write from a particular point of view and stay there until they switch to another, usually at a scene or chapter break. I realize that there are writers who like to switch from one viewpoint to another all through a scene or chapter, but most writing advice, including mine, recommends otherwise.

I’m of the school of writing that prefers to stay in one point of view until the reader needs information or insights that must come from another, then make the transition only at a clear break in the narrative, such as the end of a chapter. In my opinion this enables the reader to more closely identify with each character, and to know more of his goals and inner tensions. Each point of view also drives the narrative voice, and switching from one to another within a scene, in my opinion, dilutes the impact of that voice.

Each POV a worldview, each worldview a universe

A View of the UniverseEvery fictional viewpoint is also a worldview. That’s one reason it’s wise, in my opinion, to remain in one character’s POV for the length of a chapter or at least a scene that’s clearly marked with a visible scene break from the next. This allows the reader to feel anchored in that character’s story, and avoids confusion between viewpoints. Here’s an exchange which switches POV between one paragraph and the next. Cody had his doubts about Mina’s intentions. “Are you sure? You’re not going to change your mind later?” “Of course I’m not, dummy.” Mina said. She worried about that boy. Was he going to cause trouble? “Just stay where I can see you,” Cody told her. He couldn’t risk letting her out of his sight. “Aye-aye, Cap’n. I’ll go first.” There was a passageway up ahead where she was pretty sure she could lose him. I don’t know about you, but I feel like a spectator at a tennis match. I’m not at all sure whose story I’m in. If the author remained in one viewpoint until the other was needed, I’d be able to identify more closely with the worldview of one character. And the author would be able to conceal the thoughts and motives of the non-viewpoint character a lot more effectively, because if Mina intends to ditch Cody and the author doesn’t reveal that while in her POV, the reader is going to feel more than a bit cheated. If the author does reveal it, as above, it cheats the reader of a great deal of suspense.While you’re writing in a particular character’s POV, the reader experiences everything the character does, and nothing the character does not. When you’re not in a character’s POV, you can observe that character’s actions and hear his speech, but have no idea what he’s thinking, seeing, hearing, or feeling. “What can you tell me about Esparza,” I asked Frank. “Esparza?” he said, puzzled. “I don’t know anyone named Esparza.” Since we’re not in Frank’s POV in the example above, the reader can’t know if Frank is puzzled. Fortunately, the writer has made puzzlement clear in Frank's speech, making the blatant mind-read unnecessary.

Give 'em an experience.

Viewpoint and Direct ExperienceWhile you’re in a particular character’s POV, the character—and by extension the reader—can’t know what any other character sees, hears, or feels. Be consistent in this. If the POV character doesn't experience something, the reader doesn't either. If the character doesn’t have knowledge yet, the reader can’t have that knowledge. When in a character’s viewpoint, the writer can conceal what the character experiences only in limited ways. Keeping secrets in a third-person point of view is usually considered to be deceiving the reader, but it’s possible to conceal things in a first-person point of view by not reporting every detail when it happens and allowing the unreported detail to come out later. I knew a lot more when I hung up the phone than I had before I called.-The bartender told me what I needed to know. I left a generous tip. As I've repeated often throughout this self-editing series, let direct sensory experience be your guide. Let your reader directly experience what your POV character does. Don’t tell them. And let them experience what the character is experiencing, not what they’re trying or failing to experience.Seeing from OutsideSometimes you may begin a story from no-one’s point of view, rather like an establishing shot in a film. Fairly quickly, however, you’ll focus in on your point-of-view character and stay there. There are other times you might find stylistic reasons to use this approach, and during those times you’re in an unknown narrator’s point of view, you’re seeing your POV character from the outside. If this happens while a character is being introduced, before you reveal their name, you may even use terms like “the young man,” “the surgeon,” “the dark-haired woman.” Now listen carefully: those are the only times you should view a POV character from the outside, or refer to her in terms that she would not use for herself, though someone else might. Once you know your hero’s name is Lance, for as long as you’re in Lance’s point of view, looking at the world from inside his head, do not refer to him as “the young man,” “the tall man,” “the magician,” or “the cowpoke.” Why? Because those kinds of tags are in an outside point of view, and when you step outside Lance to refer to him, you’re leaving his point of view for one that doesn’t actually exist, and you're throwing the reader out of the reading experience, which is something you very much do not want to do. Keep your point of view consistent and logical. Your reward will be coherent narration and increased dramatic tension and reader immersion. TL;DRAnchor your reader in the story by getting inside one character’s head and staying there until you need information or insight from another character’s viewpoint. Change viewpoint at clearly marked chapter-or-scene breaks to avoid reader confusion. The reader can only experience what the viewpoint character does, and nothing the viewpoint character does not.

COVER ARTAll the fabulous pulp magazine covers on this article series were created using the amazing Pulp-O-Mizerfrom art by its creator, Bradley W. Schenck.

Self-Editing for Everyone Part 10: Passive Voice is brought to you by the letter Z, the number 3, and The Little Book of Self-Editing for Writers, available at Amazon.com, Amazon.co.uk, Amazon.ca, Amazon.com.au and all Amazon stores worldwide. Said a kind reviewer: “It's the best writing advice I've ever gotten for the price of a cup of coffee.” The revised and expanded edition is closer to the price of a venti latte, but still....Passive VoiceIf you’ve been at this writing lark any time at all, you’ve probably heard that something called “passive voice” is a no-no. That’s almost entirely true. Passive voice should be eliminated wherever possible. (No! The passive—it burns!) Or I should say: strive to keep your sentences active. The first step for a writer hoping to understand and thereby eliminate the problem of passive voice from her writing is to understand the difference between active and passive sentences. In an active sentence, the subject is the person (or place or thing) who performs the action of the sentence. If the subject performs the action on someone (or someplace or something), that becomes the object.The manager handed Maury his ass. Manager is the subject, Maury (and his ass) are objects. Paris displayed all her autumn colors along the banks of the Seine. Paris is the subject. Paris acts on colors, which are the object. The stone struck Alvin between the eyes. The stone is the subject. It acts on Alvin, who is the object.

In a sentence in the passive voice, the subject and object may trade places.

Maury got his ass handed to him by the manager.

Maury has become the subject, but he’s not acting; he’s being acted upon by the manager.

All of Paris’s autumn colors were displayed along the banks of the Seine.

The colors have become the subject, but they aren’t doing anything but being displayed. They’ve become passive.

Alvin was struck between the eyes by a stone.

Um...Alvin? DUCK!

Alvin has taken on subject duty here, but he has nothing to do in this sentence but stand there and get smacked around by the stone.

First rule of active sentences: subjects act.

Sometime a passive voice construction has no actor—the object of the sentence is mysteriously acted upon by no-one at all.

Mistakes were made.

Explanations were called for.

The body was moved.

The result, as in the previous examples, is a weak, flabby sentence.

Remember this: someone always has to move the body, and passive voice leeches life from your writing.

It's totally zombies.

Yes, zombies. Again.

USMC Ethics Professor Rebecca Johnson famously devised a way to teach her students how to recognize passive voice. If you can add “by zombies” and the sentence still makes sense, it’s passive. Try it! Mistakes were made by zombies. Explanations were called for by zombies. The body was moved by zombies. I find this a fun way to discover my own passive voice boo-boos. Product warning: you will find yourself shouting “…by zombies!” a lot while watching television. Or maybe it’s just me.Passive voice also occurs when the writer doesn’t put a real subject—one capable of performing an action—into the sentence.

There was movement in the bushes.

Note the dread “was.” “There” is not a subject. If you attempt to force it into acting like one, it teams up with “to be” to remove forward motion from your sentence.

Something moved in the bushes.

This is an improvement. “Something,” when it’s not a form of “the word that wasn’t there,” can add a sense of mystery and foreboding when used with intention. Another option would be to show what the POV character experienced, and imply with which sense or senses she perceived it. A rule for all writing at all times: take every opportunity to involve the reader’s senses.

Light flittered through the bushes.

A shadow moved in the bushes.

Leaves fluttered in the bushes.

The bushes rustled.

Not just dull—corporate memo dull.

Tiger Oil Memos. NEVER dull. Pic links to the set.

Corporate communicators are among the front runners in the passive voice sweepstakes. It still needs to be decided what our growth markets will be for the next year. We understand what’s being conveyed by your marketing message. Changes must be made in the way we deliver content. This kind of communication is vague and equivocal. It says “Things must be done!” and not “We must do this thing.” Whatever needs doing is then somehow assumed to be done by some magical means that don't involve anyone actually doing them. This may explain why the other common place to find passive voice is in political writing. We need to decide… We understand what you’re conveying… We must make changes… The vague sentences now have subjects that act. Writers sometimes use passive voice in an attempt to make a sentence sound particularly high-flown: Our intentions must be matched by our actions, or we will do nothing. The active subject “we” has been pushed almost out of the sentence here. Who must do something? We must. But in a passive construction, doing doesn’t appear to be anyone’s responsibility. It will somehow just…happen. We must match our intentions to our actions… Making the sentence active has transformed it into a call to action.

If passive voice is one of your bad writing habits, you’ll be relieved to know that there are times when it actually works. Use it when you want to show that a character is not an actor in some aspect of his own life, and then in moderation for effect:

Claire would understand, of course—Marcus was certain she would when all was said and done. There were circumstances, after all. Things happened. Mistakes were made.

If you’ve kept passive construction out of your narrative, the reader will understand that this is somehow different and pay closer attention to what you intend by it.

Are there times when it doesn’t matter who the actor is, or when the actor is so generalized that to use the active voice would be to disturb the intention of the turn of phrase? If there is, you’re bound to encounter it someday. But when you think you’ve found it, first try giving the action to a tangible subject and see if that doesn’t clarify your intention. If it doesn’t, give your sentence wholeheartedly to the zombies.

Another Passive Voice

Go. Read. Follow. Seriously.

The Passive Voice BLOG is a passive voice I can totally get behind. If you're an indie author-publisher, indie curious, or just interested in the new world of publishing, you really, really must read it. I can't emphasize loudly enough how important this blog is as a resource and information clearing house for all things 21st century publishing.

COVER ARTAll the fabulous pulp magazine covers on this article series were created using the amazing Pulp-O-Mizerfrom art by its creator, Bradley W. Schenck.

Misplaced Modifiers and Dangling ParticiplesThere’s a reason many writers don’t show their first drafts to anyone but trusted friends--our first-draft errors can be downright embarrassing. And perhaps nothing is more capable of producing unintended giggles than a dangling modifier. Heck, even the name is giggle-worthy. So how and where do modifiers dangle?

Sometimes writers put adjectives and adverbs in places where they inadvertently change the meaning of sentences, often with humorous results.

The rule is: put the modifier immediately before the word you want it to modify.

Modifiers, like shoes, shouldn't dangle.

The shiny soldier’s buttons caught and reflected the candlelight. This sentence introduces us to the shiny soldier, whereas the adjective “shiny” here is supposed to be modifying “buttons.” The soldier’s shiny buttons caught and reflected the candlelight. I nearly ran six miles this morning before breakfast. ...but something came up and you stayed home? The adverb “nearly” in this sentence is supposed to be modifying “six,” but appears to modify “ran” instead. I ran nearly six miles this morning before breakfast.When Participles Dangle“What the bleedin’ ’eck is a participle?” you might be asking. Let’s get that out of the way first. A participle is a verb doing the work of an adjective. An adjective is a word that modifies a noun. A fast horse. Adjective “fast” modifying noun “horse.” A participle is a form of a verb that ends in “-ing” and also modifies a noun. A galloping horse. Participle “galloping” (from verb “gallop”) modifying noun “horse.”

Beloved of lumberjacks everywhere

Participial Phrases for the Rest of UsA phrase that contains a participle is called—not surprisingly—a participial phrase. Glancing at her lover Seeking the shelter of the covered bridge Buttering a scone

Of course by themselves, those participial phrases aren’t sentences. Their place in a sentence is to modify the subject noun by saying what the subject noun is doing.

Glancing at her lover, Lavinia trod upon the dance instructor’s foot. Seeking the shelter of the covered bridge, Paul dodged another falling frog. Buttering a scone, Chris pondered the legality of shooting people who run their lawnmowers at 6 A.M.

If you’ve put a phrase containing a verb at the beginning or end of a sentence, that phrase should modify the nearest noun. When you put something in the way of a participial phrase so that it can’t reach the noun it’s meant to modify, we say it’s dangling. When participles dangle, they do strange things to sentences.

When used correctly, the first phrase modifies the noun in the second phrase, and one flows into the other with no loss of meaning.Believing herself to be in danger, Melanie notified the police. Knowing sparks were likely to fly, James decided to avoid the whole discussion.

Don't trust the cute.

But when used incorrectly, modifying phrases create unlikely results.

Fleeing down the darkened alley, Sandra’s handbag fell to the pavement.Sandra’s handbag was fleeing down the alley. Fleeing down the darkened alley, Sandra dropped her handbag. Now the phrase modifies Sandra, as it should. Or you could ditch the participle entirely and use another sort of modifying phrase: As Sandra fled down the darkened alley, her handbag fell to the pavement.--Having been bitten by a Chihuahua, Rollo’s trust in dogs was practically nonexistent. A dog bit Rollo’s trust. Neat trick, that. Having been bitten by a Chihuahua, Rollo felt an extreme distrust of dogs. Now the phrase modifies Rollo, as is right and proper. Ditching the participle: Ever since a Chihuahua had bitten him, Rollo had been suspicious of dogs. Keep your modifying words and phrases with the words they modify, and no-one will ever be able to accuse you of illegal dangling.TL;DRDangling modifiers don’t modify what their authors think they do.To avoid unintentional hilarity, put your adjectives, adverbs, or participles immediately before the words you want them to modify.COVER ARTAll the fabulous pulp magazine covers on this article series were created using the amazing Pulp-O-Mizerfrom art by its creator, Bradley W. Schenck.

Two LanguagesWriters of English have extra linguistic resources, owing to that fact that English is two utterly distinct languages more or less happily married into one language of incredible richness. When a word from one branch won’t do, we can always go looking for one belonging to the other. The trick is to know which language to employ in which circumstances. Linguists everywhere consider English to be a Germanic language, but less than a third of today’s language actually derives from Anglo-Saxon roots, most of the rest having come to us from Latin, either directly from Roman influence or from Romantic languages such as French, a bit from Greek, even less from the Celtic language of the Britons who were running England when the Romans arrived. In a language race, the conquerors always win.

Conquest and language enrichment our speciality.

English speakers borrowed (and did not return) Latinate language from four centuries of Roman rule, a passel of early Christian missionaries, and generations of Norman French rulers. More than 10,000 additional Latin words entered the language during the Renaissance alone. In fact, Latin words continued to enter English right up through the 18th century. Any time an Anglo-Saxon word wasn’t equal to describing a new concept or thing, someone constructed a new one from Latin.

So that’s how we got here. The question for our purposes seems to be “How does having a dual language affect us as writers?” Thanks for asking.

English is hard work, and thirsty to boot.

A Linguistic Discrepancy, or Weight Against ReachFor all that Anglo-Saxon doesn’t measure up in terms of actual numbers, most of the words it does provide are the most common in the language. Most everyday words for the common things and actions of everyday life are still based in English’s Germanic roots. One does not generally perambulate with one’s canine as often as one walks the dog. In a normal day, we are more likely to eat food than to consume or devour victuals, sustenance, or comestibles. Our language is two-thirds Latin, but our common usage is overwhelmingly rumpled old Anglo-Saxon, dressed in faded jeans and moccasins (no socks). When Latin comes out to play, it does so wearing its best clothes.

Okay, not THIS simple.

Keep it Simple For the purposes of ordinary, everyday fiction writing, and even most nonfiction writing, the plainest flavor of English is almost always the most unnoticeable and unnoticed, and writing that doesn’t call attention to itself for its own sake is writing that communicates its intentions clearly. When it’s time to make a reader see, hear, taste, smell, or feel something, the language needs to get out of its own way, and that happens when you keep it simple.It’s usually better to say

Used than Utilized

Started than Initiated

Before than Prior to

So far than As of yet

But than However

Rest than Remainder

Found than Discovered

Happened than Occurred

Not all of those pairs involve Latinate English vs. Anglo-Saxon, but they do concern wordy and elaborate vs. clear and unadorned language. The more decorative word or phrase will be needed far more rarely and usually when you’re looking for a more formal style, deliberately distancing the reader from the narrative, or making your language sound educated, self-important, unemotional, or wordy. That’s what Latin-based English does best.

Latinate language puts the brakes on pace.

Language and PacingThe type of language you use helps to set the pace of your writing. Longer words, which are most often of Latin origin, help slow pace down by removing the reader from the immediacy afforded by more direct language. Shorter words, most often Anglo-Saxon derived, help speed it up. This is also true of dialog; when their feet are to the fire, characters tend to use the shortest, punchiest way to say anything. If you choose to have them do otherwise, do so deliberately and for good reasons. Choose and UseSpeaking very generally, Latinate English is cool, erudite, perceived as higher in status and educational level, emotionally muted, and detached. Anglo-Saxon English is warm, down-to-earth, perceived as lower in status and educational level, and emotionally present. In real life, we tend to switch to Latinate English when we want to distance ourselves from the listener or establish higher status, and to shade over into Anglo-Saxon vocabulary when we’re going for closeness or establishing ourselves as "just one of the folks." Most English speakers know unconsciously how to modulate their usage of Latin-based vs. Anglo-Saxon words depending on situation and context. We go back and forth between one and the other dozens of times every day, but most of us have never given the distinction a lot of conscious thought. Knowing about our two languages gives us a powerful tool for flexible and effective writing.TL;DRRule of thumb: Anglo-Saxon English is informal, direct, close. Latinate words are the opposite. Prefer use over utilize, start over initiate, happened over occurred, before over prior to.

Keep it simple except when you don't. And when you don’t, know why you didn’t.COVER ARTAll the fabulous pulp magazine covers on this article series were created using the amazingPulp-O-Mizer from art by its creator, Bradley W. Schenck.

PacingNo story is all action or all leisurely contemplation—or at least none worth reading. It’s vital to keep your story moving forward, but not relentlessly and not always at speed. Likewise, you must allow your characters to stop and think, but not to the point of putting your reader to sleep. A book that consisted of nothing but gunfights and car chases might be fast-paced but would soon become as boring to read as one where characters sipped tea and chatted about literature for 300 pages. People in fiction, like people in the real world, don’t always live life at the same speed, and readers need a break from both too much laid-back navel gazing and too much break-neck action.

There are two easy ways to check up on your pacing as you edit yourself.

The Fiction Writer's Coloring Book, Fig. 17

Sentence LengthCount the words in a few dozen sentences from different parts of your work. Do they vary in length? Sentence length variety does at least two good things: it changes up the rhythm of your writing, and it helps control the pace.

Count the words in the sentences of an action or dialogue sequence, and do the same for a more leisurely part of your story. Which part had shorter sentences overall, and which longer? If there wasn’t much difference, you might need to work on tightening up the pace of your faster-moving scenes.

Long sentences tend to slow the pace of a story. There are times when you want to do this, particularly just before or just after a sequence of fast-paced action. In a slow-paced scene, sentences can lengthen out just a bit. Think of it like a heartbeat. When everything’s peaceful, the story’s heart rate can be slow and easy until the next action moment.

Thomas watched the gulls wheel in the gray sky above the gray water, always seeming to be on the lookout for whatever might be down there just below the surface. He threw the last of his stones into an incoming wave and walked back up the shore toward Lena’s place, more than half hoping no-one would be home yet.

Average length of a sentence: 29.5 words.

When the action picks up, so does the heartbeat. Pick up the pace of narrative with shorter, punchier sentences that contain less observation and reflection and more action and/or dialog.

Two figures resolved out of the mist. Thomas dropped behind a sandbar, heart hammering. It was Dexter and Clarke. Lena’s mother must have told them where he’d be.

Average length of a sentence: 7 words.

Dialogue is a form of action, and one that can move a story forward rapidly.

“Those two could have killed me. If they’d seen me, they would have.” Mrs. Flores wrung her hands in the dish towel. “I didn’t tell them anything!” “You’re the only one who could have!” “No, Thomas, I never talked to them. I swear!” “Leave her alone, Thomas,” Lena said. “She didn’t tell Dexter and Clarke where to find you.” “Then who?” “I did.”

Average length of a sentence: 5 words.

Let the length of your sentences help create the pace of your narrative and signal the reader how much forward movement to expect as soon as they see the page.

The Fiction Writer's Coloring Book, Fig. 18

Paragraph LengthAlternating the length and action content of your paragraphs is a good way to slow down and speed up pacing. Long paragraphs slow the pace. This can be a good thing in moderation, but when a reader sees lots of lengthy paragraphs ahead, she may begin to skim. This is a slippery slope that might end with her putting down your book and forgetting to pick it up again.

Conversely, short paragraphs, including dialog, tell the reader that the pace is picking up, along with the information-to-words ratio.

When reading drags, break up long paragraphs into two or more. Use dialog and other short action paragraphs to slow down reading speed and perk up reader attention.

Part of the Matthew Scudder series.

Masterful PacingPace is also determined by content, so if your sentence and paragraph length matches the pace you’re hoping to set with your words, you won’t be working against yourself in that regard. It can be useful, however, to go against the reader’s expectations for pace. Let me give you an example of how a master does it.

Near the end of Everybody Dies, one of the Matt Scudder novels, Lawrence Block puts two well-loved characters in an unbearably tense situation. As they walk across the countryside into what they know is a trap to face an unknown number of well-armed men, the reader knows that one man is here out of loyalty to the other, who has foreseen his own death. In point of fact, both are far more likely to die violently and soon than to live past the next few minutes. Many authors would have made sure to speed up the pacing to keep the reader glued to the page, but Block has another way of snagging hearts and minds; he uses the time it takes them to walk to their fatal rendezvous to have one of the characters talk about life, his past, his philosophy, his beliefs. With every paragraph that delays the coming shoot-out, the reader is gripped by apprehension and anticipated grief. When the deadly shoot-out finally happens, it’s almost a relief to have the waiting over with. Where Block could have sped the reader on to the final confrontation by upping the pace, he made the tension unbearable by slowing it. Where he could have written a perfectly fine chapter, he wrote a masterful one. Pace is but another of the little toys excellent writers like Lawrence Block use to keep readers buying and reading and anticipating books.Chances are you'll fall naturally into keeping sentences and paragraphs at the proper length for the pace of your scenes, but if a scene isn't working, it may be worth reading to see whether or not the pace you need matches the pace you've written. I'll talk about how language choices affect pacing and other aspects of your writing in next week's article, "Two Languages."

TL;DRSentence and paragraph length directly affect story pacing. In general, they get shorter as the action speeds up, longer as it slows down. Reading pace is to some degree the opposite. As pace picks up, reading rate slows down. As pace drops, reading speeds up. Vary the length of paragraphs in slower-paced sections to keep readers’ eyes from glazing over.COVER ARTAll the fabulous pulp magazine covers on this article series were created using the amazing Pulp-O-Mizer from art by its creator, Bradley W. Schenck.

Superfluous RedundancyA lot of editorial red ink goes into the task of showing new writers what they’re saying that they don’t need to say. I call this problem “superfluous redundancy.” Don't bother to write me; it's a joke. But the problem is not. When a writer is hesitant and unsure how to proceed, he will almost always err on the side of too much explanation, too much justification, too many words. And those words get in the way of the story. This might be a good place to bring up what a beloved writing teacher, Algis Budrys, told me one day almost 30 years ago: “The manuscript is not the story.” It took me a minute to get that the first time I heard it, so I’m gonna say it again: Themanuscript is not the story. The manuscript is where we put down the words we’re using to tell the story; it is not the story itself. Often, Algis told me, we say “I’m working on my story” when what we mean is “I’m making changes to my manuscript.” Sometimes the manuscript gets in the way of the story, and if you know the difference between the two it’s easier to remove words that aren’t pulling their weight to allow your story to emerge from your manuscript. Making that distinction allows writers to understand what a good editor does for them, and why making suggestions for revisions to the manuscript does not necessarily threaten the story.

The editor gets out the metaphorical scissors.

Why I Cut StuffThere are a lot of reasons an editor might suggest text cuts, but you’d be surprised how much of the reasoning boils down to cutting repetition, and repetition usually takes one or more of the following forms:

The information in the cut portion has been stated before or after the cut, and the deleted words are the weakest or otherwise unnecessary version of the two. Cut portions will appear in red.

A spray of bullets erupted from the wall of smoke.They spat out from the middle of the cloud.

The information is strongly implied by something you’ve written before or after the cut, and it’s not necessary to state it outright.

Curtains moved aside in one of the top-floor windows.Someone was watching.

The information is obvious from context.

“Do it now!”he commanded.

The information is obvious because of point of view.

Kelly watched as tThe dog turned and trotted away.

There’s a shorter, clearer, and/or more impactful way of saying it.

(Insert any long-winded, filler-heavy sentence from your own early draft here.)

Relax...it's probably only ink.

The Cranky Editor Below are excerpts from editing comments I’ve made to authors I’ve worked with in the past. In every case, I’ve changed the wording to avoid identification, while leaving the problems intact. My comments appear in green.

She did not respond.

The reader is watching this happen, so if she doesn’t speak, we don’t have to be told she didn’t.

“I’ll be back in an hour.” With that, he left.

Ten points from Hufflepuff for the fish head (See Part 4: The Weakeners) “With that.” Another ten for telling us he left instead of showing him leaving, or just letting his words speak for him and transitioning to what happens next.

Martin brushed past without acknowledging the man or his outstretched hand.

If Martin walked on and nowhere in the narrative did he acknowledge the man, that fact is evident to the reader. The reader doesn’t need to be told that he didn’t.

He had no idea where he was, or even who he was. He had no memory of his past.

You said it, then you said it again. The second telling weakens the first one. “…who he was” is the strongest place you can exit this sentence. If you like, you can then show him going for a memory and coming up dry rather than telling the reader he can’t remember.

Then she asked a question: “Why would you do that to me?”

Since you show her asking the question, you don’t need to tell the reader that she asked it.

“The car stopped and turned around in the road, spinning its tires. He suddenly realized that i It was coming back this way.”

He realized it because he saw what happened. So did the reader.

His attention was drawn to the wolf. The wolf lowered its head and snarled.

We saw the wolf as soon as the POV character did. We don’t need to be reminded that it’s there. The second sentence shows the wolf in action. That's what you want.

He almost asked her if she’d lied to him, but then he decided she’d only clam up.

We’re reading his thoughts; we don’t need to be told that he decided it.

Jase looked at both of them.

If there are two other people in the room, and Jase looked at them, he looked at them both.

He sank back against the wall, then slid down to sit against it, head down, breathing shallowly. He did not struggle.

Not only is that evident from the description of his actions that the character wasn’t struggling, but you're telling the reader what didn’t happen.

Never waste your reader’s time describing what doesn’t happen.

As you know, Clive, we're Beefeaters.

“As you know…”There are few rules in writing that are absolute. Here’s one that just might be: never, ever say “as you know.” Never say anything that even smacks of it, like “as I told you already,” “as you heard from Joe,” or “as we’ve already covered in a previous discussion.” This is a type of info dump also called an “As you know, Bob…” (AYKB)—a weak method of using dialogue to cover ground that you suspect should have already been covered offstage, or in a previous scene you decided not to write.

Characters do have conversations while readers aren’t listening, so they sometimes refer to things in the context of previous knowledge, just as flesh-and-blood people do. But the difference is that the fictional ones never say “as you know.”

There are ways to show information was received previously:

“I warned you that might happen…”

His mother had warned him about Sasha more than once, but as usual he hadn’t listened.

“You always used to tell me he couldn’t be trusted.”

Spare PartsYour reader probably has a pretty good idea which body parts are involved in which sensory experiences, so you don’t need to say:

She tasted ___ in her mouth.

That’s where she’d taste anything.

The same goes for all activity and body part pairs:

He punched the guy with his fist.

I kicked the tire with my foot.

By the same token:

He remembered hearing about Lorna in the past.

If a character remembers something, the reader already knows it’s in the past. Even more direct:

He’d heard about Lorna.

Hesitant, unsure writing leads to the desire to spell out things that your reader can understand from context. It puffs up your manuscript with useless words that don’t serve the purposes of your story. Learning your own hesitant writing habits will help you to correct early-draft repetition and avoid the curse of superfluous redundancy.

“Vigorous writing is precise. A sentence should contain no unnecessary words, a paragraph no unnecessary sentences, for the same reason that a drawing should have no unnecessary lines and a machine no unnecessary parts. This requires not that the writer make all his sentences short, or that he avoid all detail and treat his subjects only in outline, but that every word tell.”—William Strunk, Jr., The Elements of Style

Filler Words, Fish Heads, and More I don’t carry a copy of The Elements of Style close to my heart, and I haven’t thought it was the definitive usage manual for nearly half my life, but old Professor Strunk really hit the nail on the head for me with the statement above. If those words could be tattooed on the living brain of every writer, editors would have a lot less work to do. That’s why I chose it as the opening quote in The Little Book of Self-Editing for Writers. Since I haven't mentioned it in a whole week, I'd just like to point out that for the negligible price of $4.99, you can buy the e-book at Amazon.com, Amazon.co.uk, Amazon.ca, Amazon.com.au, and all Amazon stores. Thank you. Writers love words, and they often use too many of them when fewer would serve their writing better. The earlier in her writing career, the more likely a writer is to add words to explain things that don’t need explaining, to add adverbs when no adverb is called for, to add pet words that are so close to her heart that she doesn’t see them in her manuscript, and to add words that not only don’t move her sentences and paragraphs along, but tie them up and stake them out in the sun. We’re all prone to these same errors from time to time, but once we’ve learned what they are and why we make them, we can use that learning to grow as writers. I’ll cover some of these errors—in particular those related to over-explaining and other forms of repetition—in Part 5: When Words Get in the Way. For this article I’ll focus on filler words, fish heads (and tails), nominalizations, and a common word that may be making your writing sound common.

Eeeeuw!

Fish HeadsHave you ever used “suddenly” or “just then” to convey a feeling of urgency to the beginning of a sentence? It doesn’t. Adding unnecessary words before the action of a sentence begins slows it down, and your writing along with it. For instance, which version of each sentence below seems more immediate (or “sudden”)? A car screamed around the corner and fishtailed toward her.

Suddenly, a car screamed around the corner and fishtailed toward her.--Bobby dove for the gun.

Just then, Bobby dove for the gun. It’s the first example every time; it gets right to what’s happening and engages the reader without author interference. In addition to “just then” and “suddenly,” a lot of other unnecessary words and phrases like to cluster at the beginning of a sentence, as though trying to get it up to speed before it leaves the ground, and weighing it down instead. These are fish heads—the part you cut off.The words in the list below, and words like them, may be bloating your writing. You can make a case for any of them having its place, but that place is almost never at the beginning of a sentence that can get off the dime more effectively without their added weight. When not occurring at the beginning as fish heads, you may find words like these in the middle as filler words and at the end as fish tails. In all cases, consider carefully whether they're useful to conveying a direct sensory experience to your reader, or whether they're just excess baggage.

A second / an instant later,Actually, Again, so again, once again, Apparently,As always,As of yet, As you know / As you are aware,At that moment,Finally,For some reason, For that matterHowever,Immediately,In order to ____In the midst of ____, It occurred to ____ thatIn the process of [verb]ing ____,Needless to say,Just then,

Next,On the other hand,Once / At one time, Prior to ____,Suddenly,Suffice it to say, Sure enough,That meantThen, Just then,Soon,The (only) problem was,Unbeknownst to ___,Unfortunately,Upon ____ing,(Up)on closer inspection,While (after, before, in, by) doing (or other –ing)With that,Without further delay,Without warning,

Fish TailsMany of the items in the above lists can also flop around on the ends of sentences. When you find a word or phrase that might be a fish tail, follow back to the word or phrase that precedes it, and see if the sentence wouldn’t be better ended there. Whenever possible, a sentence should end on the strongest idea, the strongest word—the place you want to make an effect on the reader. If any of yours do not, either rearrange the words or chop off any fish tails that follow a strong natural ending.

The most egregious fish tails of all occur when the writer feels uncertain about how well he’s shown a thing and adds unnecessary words to explain it. The examples below may seem exaggerated, but they’re taken from manuscripts and published books. Only the names have been changed to protect the guilty.

“No way,” Larry said in denial.

“I’d love to!” Beth told him, showing her joy.

“Do it now!” Franz shouted in a yelling voice.

It comes in giant economy size!

Filler WordsIn addition to fish heads and tails, we may unconsciously add other fillers to our writing. “Just,” “that” and “then” are prime examples; they’re good words in moderation, but we can become habituated to them. This is by no means a complete list, and you’ll probably find more examples to add from your own first drafts, as I have. I’m not saying every instance of all of these words and phrases will be unnecessary, but if you take the time to search for each of them and notice where and how you use them, I think you’ll find lots of places where they crept in unneeded. If you ask your word-processing program to count them for you, you might just be horrified.

Able toAboutAlreadyBegan to Caused (something) toContinued toCouldDecided to Even I might addJustKept ___ingLike, as if,

Managed to ____NowObviouslyProceeded toSo to speakStarted toStillThatThe fact thatThenTo say the least Very

Zombies can be cute. Zombie nouns are not cute.

Nominalizations“Nominalization” is a nominalization – a verb made into a pseudo-noun, such as “rectification” or “organization” as opposed to a concrete noun—an actual person, place, or thing. Nominalizations convey little meaning while sounding utterly important, which is why they crop up so often in political speeches: they suggest a wide range of different things to different people and give a general feeling of usefulness (and extra syllables) without actually doing much of anything. Using them in place of concrete nouns or real verbs can make your writing sound like a corporate memo. You can’t avoid them altogether, but keep your eye out for them and try to rephrase where possible.Helen Sword, in her excellent New York Times article on the subject, calls nominalizations “zombie nouns” ‘...because they cannibalize active verbs’ and‘suck the lifeblood from adjectives.’ A woman after my own heart.

Not all nominalizations end with –tion, but that’s a place to start looking for them, and is easily searched. Words ending in –ship and -ence also sound solid and meaningful, but may freeze-dry otherwise free-flowing prose. Of course if you want to make a character sound like a corporate memo, then nominalization becomes a potent tool. But watch for it creeping into other characters’ dialogue, or into the narrative. Use a concrete noun, or change the sentence to accommodate a dynamic verb. Keep your prose moving.

The “ongoing” test: a word is probably a nominalization if you can put the word “ongoing” in front of it and make sense. If you can’t, it probably isn’t. You’ll never see an “ongoing fruit fly,” but you might be part of an “ongoing investigation.” “Ongoing urbanization” might disturb you, but you needn’t lose any sleep over “ongoing armchairs.”

The “wheelbarrow” test: If you can put it in a wheelbarrow, however large, it’s a concrete noun. You can put cats in a wheelbarrow—carefully—but not “classification” or “relationships.”

Consider the following examples of commonly used nominalizations followed by the same idea rewritten to return them to their verb state.

Willy gave the matter further consideration. Willy considered the matter further.-- Miller made an accusation of slander against Norden. Miller accused Norden of slander.-- It only served as an illustration of my problem.It only served to illustrate my problem.

Replace nominalizations and put the wheels back on your writing.

"Someone" existing "Somewhere"

The Word That Wasn’t ThereWe tend to use the word “some” when the quantity or other specifics about a thing are unknown. Lester expected to come away from the chicken coop with some eggs.

Ehrdrich would be bringing some muscle with him. As such, it’s not incorrect as much as unnecessary; the sentences below convey the same information. Lester expected to come away from the chicken coop with eggs.

Ehrdrich would be bringing muscle with him. So whether or not to use “some” in a case like this is largely down to how you feel about what it’s contributing—or not—to the meaning and the sentence’s rhythm. Sometimes the quantity in “some” is knowable but not important. Louise brought some chicken to the picnic.

I added some sugar to my coffee. …but it still has that “filler” quality. The sentences read a little cleaner without it. Louise brought chicken to the picnic.

I added sugar to my coffee. “Some” performs a useful job when a sense of mystery is required, and we’re not quite ready to reveal our specifics… Something skittered in the underbrush.

Something nibbled at the back of her mind.

Someone was coming. …but not so much when we need to paint the reader a picture. Giannino arrived with some soldiers.

(And along the same lines:)

Giannino arrived with a group of soldiers. Some? How many? What does “some” or “a group” look like in a reader’s mind? Giannino arrived with a platoon of soldiers.

…with a company of soldiers.… with a battalion of soldiers.… with three soldiers.Specifics paint a picture. “Some” does not. In sighted people, more than 2/3 of brain real estate is given over to aspects of the visual, including imagining pictures. Painting a picture for the reader is good.Go looking for weakeners in your manuscripts. Find them, then kill them. The cranky editor does not advise showing mercy to the enemies of your writing. You can download a copy of the Self-Editing Quick Reference, an excerpt from The Little Book of Self-Editing for Writers, at the Ravenscourt Press website.

TL;DRAre you slowing down your sentences with unnecessary words at the beginning? Fish heads. Chop ‘em. Are your sentences trailing on after they've done their work? Fish tails. Bin ‘em. Is your writing free of superfluous filler phrases: as you know, looked like, ended up being, etc? See above.

Be sure to tune in next week for Self-Editing for Everyone Part 5: When Words Get in the Way, where I'll offer up more about what weakens your writing.

COVER ARTAll the fabulous pulp magazine covers on this article series were created using the amazing Pulp-O-Mizer from art by its creator, Bradley W. Schenck.

Attack of the Adverbs!My former students and editing clients probably won’t believe I said this, but an adverb is a useful and necessary part of speech. It does a job. It just doesn’t do the job a lot of writers seem to think it does—that of somehow making up for having chosen a flabby verb. Adverbs modify verbs or adjectives. That's their job. When used wisely and in moderation, they help convey meaning, and they can improve a non-specific sort of verb by giving the reader more information.

Adverbs modifying verbsBob read voraciously in all genres.Jax placed the eggs carefully into the basket.Adverbs modifying adjectivesMerkel’s frostily pale eyes scanned the restaurant.“Lightly sautéed works best for mushrooms,” Bashir assured her.That said, when a strong, specific verb is called for, an adverb is not.

She TOLD you to use stronger, more specific verbs!

My position may sound extreme to you, but I believe you can delete, without tears, most examples of adverbs modifying verbs; a robust verb standing alone is always stronger than a weak verb leaning on an adverb. Inexperienced writers tend think adverbs will shore up weak verbs and make their meaning clearer. In fact, adverbs only trick you into thinking they’re supporting a weak verb; what they’re actually doing is kicking its skinny little legs out from under it.“Sprinted” is stronger than “ran quickly,” “smashed” tells us more than “hit hard,” “shrieked” is more evocative than “cried loudly.” You get the idea. A good verb shows rather than tells, strengthening—and tightening—the sentence while conveying maximum information and emotion to the reader.Adverbs modifying adjectives are usually far less of a problem in writing. If you have a tendency to overuse them, you’ll soon figure it out when you search your manuscript for “ly.” While you’re at it, you’ll probably find a lot of verb-modifying adverbs that wormed their way into your sentences without you having been aware of them. Kill them and rewrite to favor good healthy verbs.

Not all adverbs end in “-ly,” but many do. It’s a good place to start when searching your manuscript.

Keep saying "very," and I'll make you deal with them.

“Very” is a very sneaky adverb—one that tries to fool you into thinking it improves an adjective. For instance, the second “very” in the preceding sentence could be eliminated without losing meaning. And it should be. It makes me itch just looking at it.

A good adjective can walk on its own two legs most of the time, or it can partner with another adjective or a more meaningful adverb to further describe the noun in question. Or you can just back up and re-describe the noun in other terms.“Very” can almost always be cut from narrative as well as most dialogue. See also “absolutely, definitely, mostly, simply, really, totally, terribly, utterly,” and any word, really, that stands in the way of a simple, well-chosen modifier trying to do its job. “A very tall man” is rarely as good as...

Or just make the man’s height part of the action:She looked up and up and up, and the man just kept on going. “Very” is not only sneaky, it’s lazy. There’s almost always another word that will do more work for the same pay.

TL;DRHow many of your verbs are weaklings hoping in vain for help from an adverb? How many are already perfectly good verbs that can stand on their own without an adverb? How many times have you used these and similar words? Very, Absolutely, Definitely, Mostly, Simply, Really, Totally, Terribly, Completely, Utterly...

This week I'm focusing on verbs. You remember fourth grade, right? That was probably around the first time you heard a teacher say “Verbs are action words.” But not all verbs are created equal in the action department, and in this self-editing article I'll be explaining why. Along the way you may learn why certain passages in your prose don't move quite the way you had hoped they would.

The Vampire Verb: To Be “To be”—usually encountered in writing as “was” and “were”*—is the weakest verb in the language, the most common, and the most unnecessary in narrative.

Additionally, for nearly any sentence you can compose in English, “There was” is going to be the weakest possible beginning. For instance:

Weak: “There were two tigers standing near the road.” Strong: “Two tigers stood near the road.”

Weak: “There was a limousine at the curb.”Strong:“A limousine idled at the curb.”

In both cases, the first example is flabby by comparison to the second. The top sentence reports something that can be seen, but that’s all it does. It contains neither action nor tension. The second sentence in both examples invites the reader’s mind to ask “...and then what?”

Try not to suck.

“To be” in descriptions should ring your “show, don’t tell” alarms. “Melissa was a respected mathematician” or “Taylor was tall” cry out for an editorial rap on the knuckles.

Used as an auxiliary with even the strongest verb, “was” is a vampire that sucks all the life out of its attendant action verb. “Was screaming” for “screamed,” “were fighting” for “fought,” “was running” for “ran,” etc.—in every case it's weaker than the action verb on its own. In word superhero terms, “to be” is verbal kryptonite.

*If you’re writing in the present tense, “is” and “are” are your culprits.

State of Decay** kicks ass. "To have" does not.

The Zombie Verb: To Have“Had” is perhaps not quite as weak as “was,” but it’s in the ballpark. It shambles where it ought to shine. It drags your writing down to the ground and rips a bite out of its...okay. I'll stop.

As a writer painting a verbal picture for your readers, you want to tell them not just what someone or something “had,” but also give them an idea of what that means to the story, its action, and its characters.Weak: “Stella had a new hat.”Strong: “Stella wore her new hat raked low over one eye.”

Weak: “The church had a door that dated back to the 14th century.” Strong: “The church door, dating back to the 14th century, showed its age in weather-bleached wood and pitted iron bindings.”There’s almost never anything you can say with a verb like “had” that you couldn’t say more effectively with some creative rephrasing.Note: “Had” is also used as an auxiliary verb necessary to establish past perfect tense, which is used in flashbacks or anytime you want to establish that a thing happened in the past and is being recalled in the present. In these cases it’s not a problem word."Harry knew now where he had seen her before: she was Carpenter’s ex-girlfriend."

"She had not been an athletic child, nor a graceful one, but had stumbled through those years with perpetually scraped elbows and skinned knees."

The panda kicks ALL the ass.

Verbs That Kick AssAction verbs, like action heroes, kick all the ass.

Stories move best when writers not only use verbs that describe action, but strong, specific verbs that paint a moving picture in the reader's mind—the more specific the verb, the clearer the picture. A character doesn't just move down the street, he walks, stalks, strides, paces, prances, trots, meanders, skips, skulks, runs, dashes, sprints,or gallops. Each of these verbs paints a completely different picture for your reader.

Verbs should also—as often as possible—be unencumbered by adverbs, about which more next week in Attack of the Adverbs!

Use your verbs. Kick the ass.

TL;DRThe verbs "to be" and "to have" tend to weaken your prose. The more you can replace them with specific action verbs that convey your intention to the reader, the more you'll improve your writing.

How many times did you use “was ____ing?” instead of a stronger verb?

Replace “was” with stronger verbs that convey more meaning.

Replace “was ____ing” phrasing with stronger verb forms.

Have you used “had” instead of stronger verbs that convey more meaning?

You may already know I wrote a book called The Little Book of Self-Editing for Writers, available at Amazon.com, Amazon.co.uk, Amazon.ca, Amazon.com.au, and all Amazon stores everywhere, and that I’ll love you forever if you buy a copy. Full disclosure: I wrote the book to make money. I also wrote the book to help writers. Most of the writers I know really like to help other writers, and the rest can be ignored for our present purposes. I’ve participated in writers’ workshops and created and taught my own workshops for the better part of 30 years. I’ve performed major and minor surgery on quite a few novels and stories in my career as an editor, and along the way I discovered the same mistakes and missteps in beginners’ manuscripts over and over again. I wrote up long, teachy (which is totally a word now) articles to give to my clients to demonstrate better ways—in my opinion—to create memorable characters, narrative, dialogue, plots, and storylines.

I also wrote an article on the kinds of errors, hesitations, filler words, fish heads, and verbal crutches that were far too common in the manuscripts I was seeing from my clients (and sometimes in those of writers old enough and good enough to know better). I added such writerly faux pas as passive voice, point-of-view violations, pacing, and many other things that don’t begin with P, and eventually created the above-linked Little Book. I personally think that if you write—even if you don’t consider yourself a beginner—you should own a copy. But then I would. And even if you never shell out the $4.99, we can still talk. Can we talk? Okay.

In the interests of providing what I hope will be useful tips for writers, I’m going to be selecting advice from The Little Book of Self-Editing and expanding upon it here on my blog. And I’m getting this one out of the way first.

That’s right...it’s The Most Hated Writing Advice Ever.

Show, Don’t Tell.

Already a Show and Tell Sensation

Why, oh why, you may be asking yourself, do people keep saying “Show, don’t tell?” Is that even good advice? Didn’t you just read an interview with a famous author who said that was all bullshit anyway?*

What the holy frak does “Show, don’t tell” even mean?

I’m really glad you asked.

Remember Show and Tell? I rocked that class. I swear, if education had consisted of nothing else, I’d have sailed through with high honors and none of those embarrassing notes to my Mom. For the first few years of my early educational career, the night before Show and Tell day I’d be all over the house looking for some fascinating object with which to regale my classmates and earn their admiration. I was never the popular kid, and I was usually the new kid, and I was pretty nearly always the weird kid, but many of my earliest experiences of peer acceptance stemmed from successfully navigating the shoals of Show and Tell.

I learned pretty quickly that standing up in front of the class and telling them what you did on your summer holidays was not going to fascinate the average seven year old, but that anything you could bring to your audience that could be seen or heard or touched or smelled (I brought my dog once, who covered all those bases nicely) commanded their attention far better than reciting secondhand accounts of an overnight trip to the lake. The kids at North Ninth Street School, or Carlsbad Elementary, or wherever I’d landed recently, didn’t want to listen to yet more blah-blah from the front of the room; they wanted to experience something via their own senses.

What does this mean to your writing? Well, imagine your reading audience has something in common with those bored second graders. Imagine they’ll lose interest in direct proportion to the amount of time you spend relating, reporting, or telling them rather than giving them a direct sensory experience of your story. And really? If you don’t want to read any further? I’ll understand. Just remember that anything that gets in the way of delivering a direct sensory experience is what your teacher or editor is marking up and commenting with “Show, don’t tell!”

Give ’em an experience.

A Direct Sensory ExperienceThis, by the way—that headline right above these words—is what it all boils down to. Give the readers the most direct experience possible. It really is that simple. The more you get in your own way with unnecessary words that distance the reader from that direct connection with the action of your story, the more you’re telling. Telling denies the reader the experience of story in favor of reporting something to them instead.

What follows are some ways that telling happens, often without us ever being aware it has. I didn’t make these examples up, but I did change enough words to protect the guilty.

What he saw, heard, observed, noticed, felt, etc.If the reader can experience a character seeing, hearing, observing, noticing, feeling, or knowing something, don’t point it out. Get inside and write the experience as it happens. Moving one step back to report what happens is not only telling, it’s missing an opportunity to engage the reader's senses and emotions.

Telling: He saw a ray of sunlight piercing the clouds.Showing: Sunlight pierced the clouds.

Telling: He knew Sharona was lying through her teeth.Showing: Sharona was lying through her teeth.

Don’t TELL the reader that the character saw, heard, felt, or noticed something. SHOW what they saw, etc. If the character experiences it directly, so will the reader.

What Happens vs What Doesn’t HappenThe reader can only see what happens, so don’t bother telling them what didn’t happen.

Telling: Pete didn’t hesitate, but jumped for the train.Showing: Pete jumped for the train.

Telling: Carrie tried to right herself.Showing: Carrie lifted herself to one knee, then collapsed back onto the carpet.

Telling: Ellen didn’t answer him, but continued to stare out the window.Showing: Ellen continued to stare out the window.

Reporting EmotionsOne of the most egregious ways of telling is to report a character’s emotions. You want to talk about removing the reader from the experience? This is how you do it. Only don't do it.

Telling: Mercy looked sad.

What was Mercy was doing that led the POV character to conclude that she “looked sad?” What can you show the reader?

Showing: Mercy looked away and sighed. She put on a half-smile, then abandoned it.

Telling: Karl felt sad.

What does “feeling sad” feel like? What are the sensations? Where does Karl feel them?

Showing: Sorrow made an empty place in Karl’s chest. He ached. His eyes stung with tears he refused to cry.

Don’t report emotions; get inside and write what emotions DO so that your reader can experience them.

TL;DR

Are you wasting words describing what isn’t happening instead of showing what is?

Rewrite to narrate what the character is actually experiencing. Keep the reader immersed in the action.

Are you letting your readers directly experience what the POV character sees, hears, or feels, or are you telling them that he’s having an experience?

Rewrite with the intention of showing what’s happening to provide a direct and immediate experience for your readers.

Are you reporting emotions instead of letting the reader discern them based on character action?

Rewrite to show what is observable with the senses. Trust the reader to get it.

*You may indeed have read a recent mini-interview with Lee Child, in which he stated that "Show, don’t tell" was silly advice. Mr. Child—whom I consider an excellent writer and storyteller—apparently had the idea that showing meant something like a character looking at themselves in a mirror and describing themselves. That is, more often than not, pretty silly. A reading of the opening paragraphs of Mr. Child’s first novel illustrates that he has had a perfectly good grasp of the concept of showing for a great many years and writes some kick-ass narrative without having to have an encyclopedic knowledge of the terminology, so I’ll give him a pass on the mirror thing.

COVER ARTAll the fabulous pulp magazine covers on this article series were created using the amazing Pulp-O-Mizer from art by its creator, Bradley W. Schenck.

I originally posted this one over on Occupy Publishing, but I realize not all my visitors drop by there, so I thought I'd repost it here, because for those of us doing some or all of our publishing as independent author/publishers, there are three things whose importance can't be overestimated: Good cover design, good formatting, and good editing. At the bottom of this post is a list of recent articles on the importance of editing. Anyone wishing to skip over the author's opinion on the matter may scroll down to the list.

The Part About AssumptionsMany writers assume that when a publisher buys their book, they'll receive world-class editing to whip their work into world-class shape. And to be fair, that sometimes still happens, even in these disrupted times. But that assumption doesn't take into account the fact that most writers won't sell their manuscripts in the first place. The vast majority will never acquire representation, and the vast majority of those who do won't find a publisher. That much hasn't changed since "The Golden Age of Big Publishing." What has changed is the number of contracts being offered to new writers. That number has shrunk.

Of those writers who continue to beat their heads against that wall, some will be chosen (passive voice deliberate). They are most likely to be chosen if their book is already a) really, really good, and/or b) really well-suited to one or another publishing sub-genre. And even really, really good books go begging. Some fall prey to the exigencies of the market, others to the whims of narrowing editorial tastes (as agent Jenny Bent reveals here). Of those who are not chosen, some will give up, some will continue to fill drawers with "failed" manuscripts, and some will publish their books themselves.

The chosen ones will face smaller advances, increasingly predatory agency and publishing contracts, shrinking shelf space, nearly or entirely absent marketing and promotion, and publishers who will overprice the electronic edition, scaring away potential readers. And guess what? They may or may not get the stellar editing they were hoping for.

The Part About Editing, and the Part About Self-PublishingWhether you're publishing your own book or looking for a traditional publisher to shepherd it, editing can make or break it. As a traditionally published author you won't have a choice of editors, but you also won't have to pay directly for editing. You will pay in the amount of cover price your publishing company makes vs. your very small advance and your very small royalties.

Here at the Occupy Publishing camp (on the Internet, no-one can see your tents), we've noticed a double standard where indifferent editing is concerned. Readers who might not notice or care overmuch about a few typos in a Big 6 book are excoriating indie authors for minor errors. And it has to be said that not all the errors they find are minor; far too many self-published books hit the virtual shelves in dire need of proofreading, formatting, and editing.

If you decide to publish your own book, you face doing for yourself or hiring done everything a publisher would have done for you (including the things you dreamed a publisher would do for you, but which they very likely would not have done). Among those is engaging the services of an editor—possibly the same freelancer your publisher would have hired.This is tricky territory to negotiate. The Internet woods are full of editors, and not all of them are good. Not all of the good ones are suited to what you write. I gave birth to mine, and I highly recommend her editing talents, but let's face it, most writers are not going to go to that kind of trouble.

As a self-published author, you can shop for editors, but you will pay professional rates for their work. You can rely on friends to be alpha- and beta-readers, and that may be helpful, but you'll be fortunate indeed to get first-class editing out of them. If you know an editor well enough, you can negotiate rates and/or barter for services. You can learn to self-edit, which won't obviate the need for an outside editor, but will ensure she has less to do, and gets less of your money.

The ArticlesHere's a smattering of recent intertubes activity on the subject of editing, presented for your education and entertainment. I hope they'll help you make an informed choice about the editing for your books. Please note that there are articles listed below that are not in the original Occupy Publishing post.

What did I miss? Please comment if you've found other good articles on editing, or books you've found helpful. And here's an article I wrote for my editing clients on self-editing, soon to be part of a book. I hope you enjoy it.